IN THE MIDDLE of our conversation with Miranda July, she paused to tell us that she had found something in the pocket of her vest, newly purchased from eBay. The note, which she read aloud, reminded the previous wearer of an upcoming meeting that, in serendipitous consonance with her latest novel, last month’s All Fours, was to take place in a hotel room. Her ensuing glee seemed just as much about the discovery of the note—a finding that transported the three of us, voyeur-like, into the vest’s past life—as it was about making that discovery in our company. The moment felt illustrative of a key part of July’s creative process: delighting in the mystery of the everyday, and forging unexpected, often odd moments of connection with other lives.
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